


corellian sunrises

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Cassian Would Rather Shove His Face Into The Sand Than Have A Feeling, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Pre-Rogue One, Undercover Missions, Vacation Planets, Will Likely Be Jossed By Rebels Canon Soon Enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-07 19:50:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13442100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: Any spy worth a damn investigated deeply into things. They burrowed until it hurt, got everything they needed and then some, pushed until they bled or had an answer or both. He sounded more like a proper Imperial looking the other way in the face of injustice than he did the brave Rebel mole he was purported to be.





	corellian sunrises

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Artemis1000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis1000/gifts).



Sweat dripped into Cassian’s eyes, guided by the lank, heavy weight of his bangs as they plastered themselves to his forehead. This probably wasn’t the most uncomfortable mission he’d ever been on, but it had to rank somewhere near the top. Pushing at his hair, he grimaced and tried to focus on the drink in front of him instead of the way his linen shirt clung to his back. It was an icy drink, full of liquor he shouldn’t actually drink, and a truly shocking shade of pink. Across from him, Alexsandr Kallus, formerly of the ISB, formerly Cassian’s enemy, formerly a turncoat and a betrayer and worse besides, sipped primly at an equally alcoholic, equally shocking, equally cold and probably refreshing drink and didn’t seem to have much in the way of concerns at the moment.

What a bastard.

“You don’t get out much, do you?” said the turncoat-enemy-Agent-Kallus. His voice nosed at amusement, warm and honeyed and so very interested underneath the cultured, clipped accent. Anyone looking might mistake him for a potential suitor from the way he was looking at Cassian. The way he leaned forward to better regard Cassian did nothing to dispute that image and it took every ounce of Cassian’s not-inconsiderable self-control to keep from leaning back and locking up, never to speak to or acknowledge Kallus again. Nobody looked at him the way Kallus was looking at him, and certainly not former Imperials at that. Not even on missions where they might or might not have needed to pretend they were merely tourists.

“I get out plenty,” Cassian replied, clipped in an entirely different way. “It’s my job to get out.”

Kallus leaned back and crossed his legs, more at ease here than anyone had any right to be. Not one-hundred meters away, the translucent blue ocean bubbled and teased at the pristine white shore, sand glimmering beneath the three suns overhead. Cassian thought that was two suns too many at the least, but most everyone around them seemed pleased enough with the heat and relentless light that would bore a hole through your skull if you weren’t careful. They were smiling, at least, and laughing and strolling across the nearby boardwalk, hands out to catch the tall fronds of beachgrass that lined the pale wood pathway. “Not to paradise, though, I take it?”

Cassian’s teeth ground and creaked inside his head, making his jaw ache. “Not precisely.”

A smile twitched at the corner of Kallus’s mouth, like he was hiding something very valuable and he wanted Cassian to know it. But instead of illuminating the situation, he remained quiet and his eyes scanned the glinting horizon that seemed to go on forever, searching for something that Cassian couldn’t begin to guess at. When his gaze finally resettled on Cassian’s face, it was… calm. Relaxed. So very the opposite of everything Zeb had warned him he’d be. They weren’t close, Cassian and Orrelios, but they knew one another a bit. _Right uptight_ , he’d said, _proper Imperial stock, that one_. Then he’d swiped at the back of his purple neck with a large, purple paw and looked away, shrugging. _But a good guy underneath all that, I guess._

 _You guess_ , Cassian had replied. _Guesses aren’t good enough_.

Orrelios had growled, exposing all those sharp teeth of his and narrowing those big, green eyes. It didn’t intimidate Cassian, but it had been impressive all the same. _He’s not suddenly going to fling you into the nearest Imperial prison if that’s what you’re worried about. At this point, he’s lost about as much as your average Rebel soldier. If they’re good enough for you, he should be, too._

Cassian still asked himself if that was true and Orrelios was right. He normally didn’t question the defectors too closely—not after their initial briefing anyway, when he normally did all the prying his heart and mind needed to feel secure—but apparently Fulcrum agents got special privileges, or were vetted by someone who wasn’t Cassian, because Kallus remained an unknown to him, a wild card shuffled in the middle of an already unpredictable deck. Cassian hated wild and he hated unpredictable. He couldn’t do anything to better organize the Rebellion, turn this war into the neat and tidy thing he wanted it to be, but he could make as many unknowns known as possible.

A joint mission, undercover at that, wouldn’t have been his choice for getting that unknown known, but since when did he have a choice in any of the things he did? He went where Mon Mothma and General Draven pointed him. This shouldn’t have bothered him nearly as much as it did. And yet…

“The trouble with paradise,” Kallus said, slow and distant and too deliberate as his attention returned to the world around them, “is it hides a multitude of sins. Sometimes more effectively than a robust criminal underbelly does.” His mouth twisted, knowing. “At least you know there’s crime to look out for in a scum-filled pool. Nobody believes hell exists on pleasure planets.”

“One man’s crime is another man’s necessity,” Cassian said.

“I was stationed on Lothal,” Kallus answered, unperturbed in the slightest—or seemingly so. If Cassian weren’t so good at his job, he might have missed the way Kallus’s speech sped up and the way his accent hitched on the second syllable of the name. Good. He was startign to see through Kallus’s quirks. “I know about crime and necessity. That’s not what I mean.” He sighed and brushed at the forelock of hair that fell into his face. It did him no good; the stubborn strands simply resumed their place, unconcerned with Kallus’s wish for them to be elsewhere. Cassian couldn’t help but note that they hadn’t darkened with sweat. In fact, Kallus looked very much at home here. A number of uncharitable thoughts came to mind then, but even Cassian knew how to hold back. At least a little bit. “Ah, it doesn’t matter what I mean.” His eyes narrowed, thoughtful, and he pursed his lips together. “You don’t like me very much, do you?”

Sniffing, Cassian looked away, tried to figure out what was so special about the water here that Kallus kept searching it. “I don’t like most people,” he answered, squinting against the glare. “It’s nothing personal.”

He returned his attention to Kallus, who was, rather surprisingly, comparatively easy on the eyes. Cassian wasn’t generally given to thinking about such things, but every once in a while…

Cassian shifted and finally grabbed hold of his drink, swallowing more of it than was probably wise. What would K-2 think if he was here? The sweet-tart taste of some local berry or other burst across his tongue, chased by the demon-heat of whatever passed for rum in these parts. The melting ice clacked against Cassian’s mouth, a soothing counterpoint to the surprising punch of the drink. He didn’t cough, but it was a very near thing.

“Good to know,” Kallus said, dry, politely ignoring the way Cassian quickly swiped up the damp paper napkin his drink had been sitting on and pressed it against his lips. He very clearly didn’t believe Cassian and that annoyed Cassian, too. Any spy worth a damn investigated deeply into things. They burrowed until it hurt, got everything they needed and then some, pushed until they bled or had an answer or both. He sounded more like a proper Imperial looking the other way in the face of injustice than he did the brave Rebel mole he was purported to be. If Kallus didn’t believe him, he should have done something about it.

Something of his disappointment must have shown on his face, because Kallus frowned. A divot formed between his eyebrows and his eyes tracked across Cassian’s face. “What is it?”

It wasn’t that Cassian blushed exactly—if any warmth flooded his cheeks, it was due to the unrelenting sun or the alcohol or both—but he wasn’t exactly comfortable with the thought of someone seeing through him. And he got the very distinct feeling that Kallus could do just that. It left him feeling exposed, undefended. He crossed his arms and uncrossed them and hated how off-balance this whole place left him.

He was always the one in control, always the one who knew what to do. And though he could run a recon mission with his eyes closed, this one…

He got the very distinct feeling that Kallus should have been the one in charge rather than taking point for Cassian and Cassian didn’t like that feeling in the slightest.

“Well,” Kallus continued gamely, “I will say this. Whatever you might think about me, I’ve read your reports—the ones that aren’t redacted or fully confidential anyway. I respect what you’ve done for the Rebellion, what you’ve sacrificed for it. I wish…” He drew in a deep breath. “I wish I could have done the same sooner. I hope to make up for it now.”

Irritation prickled along Cassian’s spine, his natural reaction whenever others don’t behave the way Cassian wanted them to or to act his standards. A part of him considered berating him for not being better if he knew he should have been, but just the thought of doing so…

It was exhausting.

Because as far as Cassian was concerned, he’d only done what he had to do. Always. He’d picked up a blaster at six because if he hadn’t, he would have died, and everything since has just been a variation on that theme. Perhaps it was the same for Kallus. He didn’t think so—Imperials always had a choice—but he’d never get through this mission if he didn’t give Kallus the benefit of the doubt.

How must it have been to be a spy? Under Grand Admiral Thrawn’s personal supervision at that? Cassian could maybe respect someone willing to risk his life that way. “You came around.” Cassian was a miser with compliments and he felt rusty handing one out now, but he tried to do it anyway, because it felt important to admit this much to Kallus. He wasn’t sure he liked the man yet, but he wasn’t entirely without generosity or admiration. They shared something, he and Kallus; it wasn’t fair to entirely deny that fact. “Under similar circumstances, not many people have done the same.”

If Cassian had lived that life, would he have done as Kallus did? He felt certain that were their roles reversed, Kallus would have turned out very like Cassian and that did him some degree of credit, though Cassian would never have wished his life on anyone.

“Hmm. Perhaps.”

The trouble of it was Cassian wanted to like Kallus. He wanted to understand him. He wanted, too, to get to know him. It was an uncomfortable sensation, wanting to know a person. Down that path lay weakness and fear and the possibility of loss.

Cassian swallowed. He was getting ahead of himself. He always got ahead of himself when—

Now he did blush. And he knew he was blushing and so he ducked his head to keep it from being even more obvious. Probably Kallus wouldn’t notice, but it was possible he would and that—that Cassian could not abide. No. Not now. Not ever maybe.

Besides, there was time yet. Perhaps not a lot of it, maybe not even enough, but sitting near this beach, waiting for their recalcitrant quarry to show its face, it felt like they had all the time they needed.

“Tell me something that’s not in your file,” Cassian asked. His drink, now cut a bit by the melting ice, went down a whole lot sweeter. “About you. Something nobody else knows.”

Kallus’s brow arched, but his mouth split into a pleased grin. “I guess we do have to pass the time somehow.” His thumb plucked at his chin as he considered. His eyes brightened with suppressed mirth and he added, deadpan, “I haven’t had a Wookiee-wango in years. I used to hate them, but it was what my buddies drank. I actually kind of miss the things.”

That… wasn’t what Cassian was expecting to hear. “Why don’t you order one? Instead of—whatever these are?”

“Corellian Sunrises,” Kallus answered, his thoughts already a million miles away. “Do you think they serve them here? Wookiee-wangos?” He sounded hungry for one, desperate. Cassian hoped they did, if only so he could fulfill this bit of longing inside of him. Cassian… was maybe charmed by it.

He knew what he had to do. Pushing himself to his feet, he said, “I don’t know, but allow me to find out for you.” He justified it by telling himself it was to keep Kallus from being too disappointed if they didn’t. But really, it was a lot more complicated than that and far more than getting Kallus another drink implied.

Kallus would be trouble was all, and further, Cassian wasn’t entirely sure he didn’t want just that from him.

Something to consider, Cassian imagined, once they were no longer on a mission.


End file.
